Where are those German Linguists When you need them?

We need a new word, people.

Schadenfreude is one of those words that lets people know you’ve been to graduate school. It is an extremely useful word in that it gives a name to a phenomenon which we had not heretofore had a name for. (Well, technically, there is the Greek word epicaricacy, but that’s still a borrowed word, isn’t it?) We needed schadenfreude because it is rather common in our complex society to take pleasure in the suffering and misfortune of others. Celebrity culture is primarily a machine which produces individuals who are built up, adored, and then summarily destroyed. We like seeing the beautiful and the famous humiliated. Closer to home, the thought that a co-worker who seems more on the ball than you gets passed over for a promotion makes us giddy. Yes, we’ve all had the feeling, even if we didn’t have the word. Having the word, however, makes it all somehow more delicious because it suggests that this is a natural, and therefore common state of mind. We don’t need to feel as though we are bad people because we take Satanic joy in the miseries which befall our fellow human beings. After all, if we name it, we can assume that many people claim it.

But as common as the schadenfreude experience is, there are other equally common states of mind having to do with our interactions with others. I feel these states of mind should have a noun into which we can collect their aspects. For example… think of a person you are acquainted with on a casual or professional basis. You see them occasionally and are not close by any means. Whenever you meet them, the small talk quickly turns to this person unloading their problems on you. Thus, a passing conversation which ordinarily would take approximately thirty seconds, soup to nuts, stretches on and on like a real engagement…. like you would have with your friend. But you are contributing. You are not asking searching questions. And you are certainly not curious.

I experience this in the workplace Without going into the particulars, there is someone for whom I occasionally do some work. This person brings me the works. I do it. This person then pays me. That is the extent of the relationship. The face time should last about twenty five seconds… tell me what you want me to do; tell me how soon you need the work back, and have a nice day. But in the midst of this I am made to suffer through the minutiae of this person’s personal travails – children running rampant… husband with a goiter… aunt with loose bowels… car with achy oil filter… wood-chipper at midnight… cat with goiter… exhausting. And I am sure all these things are causing maximal stress…. but why me? Is my face that kindly? Do I look like someone who’s got it together enough to give advice? Do I sell Calgon?

But between sympathy and simply ignoring these agonies. I find that what I want is for this person’s sufferings to be amplified so that I can experience schadenfreude. In other words, this person communicating her problems perverts empathy and sends it to the Bizarro world. I want this person to suffer so that I can receive some recompense for having to listen to the moaning.

Yes, I know it sounds evil, but it really isn’t. It isn’t because I don’t really have that sort of power. If I did, chances are I wouldn’t want to experience this anti-empathy will-to-punish. But the helplessness of being in the midst of this upchucking of problems and catastrophes creates the perversion. It does not come from me.

So we need a word for this sensation… this anti-empathy will-to-punish. Something like “punitive empathy.”

Schadenfreude, the Surge, and the Ethics of Pulling out of Iraq

Does It Make It Easier…You’ve got someone to blame…

Five years is a short marriage but a long war. The news media, with its usual shoulder-shrugging has been spending time looking at polls and showing scenes of the statue of Saddam Hussein being torn down and smacked with sandal heels. A handful of stalwarts on the right continue to view Iraq as a frontline in a real global war (rather than as a distraction from the continuing criminal activities of terrorists in just about every country except where we are); Goldwater/Regan Republicans (the “realists?”) bite their lower lips, rend their garments in disdain over the incompetence of the “aftermath follies” of Rumsfeld, Bremer, et al, while simultaneously speaking in terms of “victory” and playing up the modest successes of Bush’s surge strategy; Democrats drool over November and forward bromides about withdrawals, and progressives and democratic socialists (a few of them around. Never in the media.) want to wash their hands of the whole fiasco. Leave. Don’t look back.

These are, of course, extremely crude, sweeping generalizations. I wouldn’t want to be categorized by someone like me. Pigeon-holing and defining the narrative arc of complex individuals is the role of the media and politicians. But the categories serve a purpose. Namely, they force a libertarian/progressive/lib-dem like myself to confront a very dicey ethical dilemma. To put name to myself, to place myself in the spectrum of political thought, is to take up the chorus of that old union song “Which Side are You On” and say, finally, this is what I believe, not what I’ve been told to believe. This is what I own.

“My side” hates Bush (often personally) and his administration. This is a club which is becoming increasingly diverse in its membership. Truly, these past eight years have been disastrous on so many levels – from the criminal negligence of ignoring intelligence reports about al-Qaida prior to September 11th, to the lying about links between al-Qaida and Iraq as a pretext for war, to illegal surveillance, to the illegal detentions, to a generalized shift towards a unitary executive office, to an embarrassingly mishandling of the economy (amazing how Democrats are seen as bad for business when two generations of Bushes have been responsible for recessions), to a whole-sale erosion of our diplomatic clout on the world’s stage – but if it’s been bad for us, think for a moment about the lives of typical Iraqis have been turned upside down for years to come. The “successes” of the surge have done nothing to improve the daily lives of Iraqis who have had to endure up to 22 hours without electricity, scarce sanitation, and the daily terror of not knowing whether wearing a particular color of scarf will get you killed or save your life when you go to get your groceries.

Meanwhile, solider number 4,000 just left the planet after being destroyed by a roadside IED while another 130,000 play the four-out-of-a-hundred game of Russian Roulette. (Perversely, the fact that it took until this week to reach the 4K mark is seen as evidence of the surge’s success by boosters. Presumably, if things were worse, we would have been at this number in… January?)The law of averages, of course, is on the side of the average solider. The good money is on them coming home. Of course, what condition they will be in when they arrive is another question. There are no flag-draped coffins for missing limbs or tortured psyches.

All these things make it easy dig a fork into Bush. It is easy to look at that vacant visage and find the taproot all of the problems of the past eight years. It is easy to view Bush’s reign as a petty powergrab by bottom-feeding opportunists spurred by a Freudian drive to destroy his father (himself a lumpen, though by all accounts, a serviceable functionary.). It is easy, because it is probably true that he is the worst executive we have ever had.

The ethical problem, however, has little to do with Bush himself, or the coven of incestuousness that is his “team,” but rather my personal investment in a narrative that views his failures as evidence of validation. That validation – that “we” were right in 2000 and 2004 – requires that Bush succeed at nothing and fail at everything. This is beyond mere schadenfreude, and a good deal more than sour grapes. It is a notion that in order for things to get better, they have to get a lot worse. “Success” for Bush means emboldening him for possible future actions… a sense that “well, if this worked… maybe we can do the next thing…” such as saying yes to war with Iran or a continuation of the fascistic unitarianism that has become the hallmark of the Bush reign. Failure and humiliation will somehow redeem us as a nation. It will allow us – Democrats and Republicans alike – to point at a single individual and say “it wasn’t us… it was always him.” Scapegoat or sacrificial lamb… either way, the fiascos of the past eight years suggest a way out for all concerned; a possibility for renewal.

Were that the case, then there would be no ethical problem. If we fail the Iraqis or the Afghanis, if we don’t return some semblance of social order and material infrastructure, we will be responsible for a slow, indirect genocide that will result from civil wars, intolerable poverty, disease, and generalized hopelessness. For them, the war is not a “folly,” or an example of extreme hubris on the part of a cadre of neo-cons, it is a catastrophe of apocalyptic proportions. It is not an embarrassment which will go away on January 9, 2009, it is a daily smothering of civilization within its very cradle.

This desire to see the surge fail informs the instinct for withdrawal. I say instinct because one naturally recoils from the flame when it first licks the underside of the palm. But we lit that fire and fed it with gasoline before we ever started getting burned ourselves. Now we want to pull away because our flesh is being seared, leaving the hundreds of thousands of Iraqis to put out the fire with little more than sand.

It is unethical…immoral, possibly criminal… to leave Iraq in this state. Far beyond the “you broke it, you bought it” platitudes coming from the apologists there is simple humanitarianism to be considered. We did the wrong thing for the wrong reason. I liken it to taking over for a quack surgeon. The wrong limb has been amputated… the kidneys are shot… gangrene is spreading like kudzu… for sure the quack needs to be removed from scene (and punished), and his support crew should be changed over as well. But the man on the table will die and organ harvesters will crawl out from the dark corners of the operating theater to collect whatever is left that isn’t rotting. … It may not be the world’s greatest metaphor, but I think it does demonstrate a simple fact: we have a responsibility to the those for whom the invasion and the occupation has meant a lingering death sentence. This concern must trump any concerns we might have for our “standing on the international stage” or our strategic interests in the region. And on the left, this concern must trump any fear that a kind of success and peace in Iraq down the line will be credited to Bush. (I simply don’t think that sentence will ever be written in a high school text book, but if it doesn’t I hope to hell there are better historians TEACHING the class.)

Any success must be measured by the quality of life for Iraqis rather than Halliburton stockholders, military pragmatists, and campaigning politicians. Ideally, we should remove or downgrade our own military presence in favor of UN Peacekeepers. ( I realize this can’t happen under current conditions. But I don’t think our military can keep a civil war from happening. I think it is essentially inevitable and we should do what we can to shelter and protect “average” Iraqis… whoever or where they might be.) Ideally, the blue helmets would work in concert with an international coalition of NGOs and local organizations to Marshall-plan the hell out of the country. 18 hours of guaranteed electricity will speak much louder than an insane mullah calling for jihad.

These programs will not be popular with Americans as we enter the long recession. They will want more money for their own programs and the will rage over the sky-rocketing price of flour due to the ethanol bubble. Politician will forward populist rants about how we need to focus on our poor and our children. And they will be right. But we must pay this debt that we owe to Iraq. Not because it is the American way, but because it is merely the right thing to do.

Running Along the Margins: Nader in 2008

Only in a political culture as moribund, dysfunctional, and undemocratic as America’s could Ralph Nader’s presidential bid be considered an evil among progressives and a Machiavellian treat for the Republicans. I have to confess, when Nader made his announcement this morning on “Meet the Press” I cringed. I feel that it is a kind of desperation; a very expensive way to actually get the press to discuss the issues that Clinton and Obama don’t seem to want to discuss.

(Busy as they are trying to find ways of scraping a few delegates away from the other on the road to an eventual anointing by a super-delegate. )

The press isn’t really interested in talking about how corporate influence corrupts the democratic process, or how deregulation has undermined trust public trust and – not incidentally, the economy. The cringe is really a recognition of how quickly Nader will be relegated to the margins after his “spike” of being on “Meet the Press.” He will be talked about briefly. Obama has already politely acknowledged Nader’s heroic status (Thus shoring up something like progressive bona fides) while Clinton almost instantly dismissed Nader’s run as a “passing fancy.” Tomorrow, Nader will be again sent to the back pages along with Ron Paul. There will be no debate invites forthcoming. No ruminations by pundits, and certainly no traction on the important issues he has always brought up. After all, if major party dissenters like Ron Paul, Dennis Kucinich, or even John Edwards can’t sustain a conversation in the public forum, what chance does Nader have? His narrative has already been spun: the “spoiler,” The man responsible for Bush’s election in 2000.

(Yes, despite the fact that Gore won Florida and that the blame lies squarely with a corrupt Republican political machine in Florida and a Supreme Court who went on to make one of top five worst legal decisions in US history, somehow Nader and his puny 2.7% somehow destroyed America. It is almost like a variety of psychosis the way Americans seem unable to place the blame where it correctly lies. It is much easier to accuse the least powerful entities in our society for the ills of the world than it is to actually look squarely at those with actual power and influence. If the economy and the health care system are broken, then it MUST be illegal immigrants who are to blame. If Bush won Florida in 2000, then it must be Nader’s tiny presidential run which destroyed our dreams and sent us down this near-decade long path of darkness. But let’s put corruption and voter disenfranchisement aside for the moment. Let’s say Bush won Florida fair and square. What does that say about the Democrats that they could not beat this guy who, in 2000, seemed as hollow, vapid, and clichéd as he does today? And what’s their excuse for 2004?)

Nader is not running to win, and I don’t believe he ever has. He himself has said that if the Democrats can’t “landslide” the Republicans this November against a super-hawk war lover like McCain (he of the 100-year plan for Iraq) they really need to reconsider their place in the meager two-party plutocracy that is the American national political system. I don’t begrudge him his run, but I also don’t know what it is really going to do except spend money and send him to speak in front of college students or get interviewed on Amy Goodman’s show. \

What he says needs to be heard, of course. I just wish there was a smarter, more efficient way of getting that message out there other than running for elected office (has he ever considered running for a state office or the Senate?). This protest-run won’t really do what he wants it to, and it may further erode his ethos, which will further marginalize a man who was once (and, by all rights, should continue to be) a giant in our culture.

Any I don’t know if Nader is interested in sniffing around and asking other questions, such as why Israel’s bombing of Syria in the Summer of 2007 has essentially been unreported, or why we talk so tough about Cuba while we turn a blind eye to China’s continued abuse of human rights at home and in her dealings in Africa. Or, why have the Democrats (and the American people in general) allowed a unitary presidency to come into ascendancy?

I don’t know if Nader will go to these places, but I have never doubted his courage to make the trip.

America: You had me, then you lost me.

Super Tuesday did something that I didn’t think was possible anymore… filled me with something like pride in my country of birth. Specifically, the American people voted as though they were politically involved and curious. By all accounts they turned out in droves on the Democratic side (or “Democrat Side” if you are Bushish. The new Normalcy.) to vote for either the first woman or the first African American to run this joint. On the GOP side, citizens rode their John Deers and Hummers to the local Elk’s club to say “yes” to sunstroked McCain or “yes” to what-the-Huck and definite “no” to that Fuller Brushman, Romney. Actually – the voters on the Republicans side said “no” to the machine of the anointed.

But then Super-Tuesday gave way to “give me a cigarette” Wednesday, and then to possibly the most depressing day in recent memory – the day an American presidential administration said “yes” to torture. I suppose they thought that the shameful debate about the “nature” of water boarding (whether it is an “according-to-Hoyle,” Webster’s definition of torture) had gone on long enough and they said “fuck it. We’ve got eleven months. They already hate us. Why not own our evil?” But the surprising thing is how it’s not really an issue… even a few days later. No one seems to care that people are being tortured as a matter of course… as a matter of public policy.

Worst of all, that tired, anemic old “ticking bomb” canard has found legs in the debate. You know the one. Freshman writing teachers always roll it out for their students to chew on. “Well, if it’s the choice between torture and a bomb going off…” etc. The fact is, the moral argument is moot on that level. Think about it: the interrogator is the person who makes the choice between the guilt of inflicting torture and the guilt of having allowed a bomb off. He/she not going to consider policy in a situation like that. It is your typical strawman argument. The day-to-day needs of interrogators are more like “does this guy know of a training camp in Lahore?” or “does this guy know where Bin Laden is hiding out?” in other words, important strategic concerns. Bomb builders. Not bombs ticking.

Somehow forgotten in all this “debate” is the fact that we (the US of A) convicted and executed Japanese military representatives for using (wait for it!) WATER BOARDING on AMERICAN soldiers.

Costanza!!!

My Seinfeld Moment


Scene: A local grocery store chain in Los Angeles. No names, but they all have a bakery attached to them. I am shopping, buying some stuff. It’s coffee time. So I bebop over to the bakery for a coffee. But I don’t need a lot of coffee. My caffeine needs are minor. I need a hot, caffeinated beverage in a not-large container. Ok…

Attendant: Can I help you?
Me; Yes, a regular coffee of the day, please?
Attendant: What size?
Me: Small, please.
Attendant: We don’t have small. We have medium and large.
Me: uh…
[At this point, the Attendant is pointing to the demo cups.]
Attendant: [holding a small cup up] Medium… [holding the large cup up] Large…
Me: I’ll take the smaller of the two.
Attendant: [holding up the small cup] Medium?
Me: That’s the smaller cup. That’s the one I want.
[The attendant sets the small cup down and starts to ring me up.]
Me: Why do you call the small cup “medium?”
Attendant: That’s all we have. Medium and large.
Me: Yes, but medium only exists when there is a small and a large size to compare it to. It comes between large and small.
Attendant: [annoyed] This is all we have. Do you want this or not?
Me: I just want you to recognize that it is silly to have a medium size of something but not a small. It doesn’t make.
Attendant: I don’t need this…
[She storms off. I am standing waiting for someone to give my money to. Meantime, another customer comes up and asks another attendant for a small coffee. This other attendant agreeably serves the customer and completes the transaction without fuss. I then pay this understanding attendant.]
Me; Uh, so I’m paying for what?
Attendant 2: Small coffee?
Me: Yes, But why is it called “medium?”
Attendant 2: It’s actually called “regular.”

Bill, Shut the Fuck up!

Bill Clinton minimizes Obama's massive victory in South Carolina by noting how Jesse Jackson ALSO won South Carolina twice, in 1984 and '88. Does this suggest that Bill has noticed that Jackson and Obama are both black? Does it suggest that he is simply an enthusiastic supporter of another candidate who happens to be his spouse?

Or does it suggest a degree of desperation from a former candidate who himself won South Carolina in two straight elections? (1992 & '96 - although, granted, he was running again Lyndon LaRouche in the latter primary.) Is it just something to say in defeat? There is no way Bill is doing a "Jesse = Obama" equating. I assume that he Bill is incapable of just letting certain things go.

Maybe he should have. After all, California will give it to Hillary, good and proper. Tea leaves may not have any relevance in this election cycle. So much is in the air. Serious candidates representing Americans who have been historically shit-canned. Clinton (women), Obama (African-Americans), and Edwards (the working poor). This should be the proudest moment in history of the Democratic party.

If Hillary wins, will Obama join her cabinet? Edwards would be a smart choice for either's Attorney General. How do we like the sound of Secretary of State Clinton? (But WHICH Clinton?) Or Chief Justice Clinton? (Well, is Bill eligible?)

Meanwhile,on the other side... is there a 21st century Republican in the bunch? Is there a non-pandering, non-whack job in that fruit salad?

A Case of the Clap: Blinking at the State of the Union

- Bush doesn't want us to sacrifice or to serve because when we are "doing for our country" we aren't spending money and creating personal debt. When we volunteer, we come together as a community and we become more invested in our political culture. When we serve, we own the country. When we are served, when we are pandered to, mommy and daddy can continue drinking through their lost weekend.

- Washington DC is a kind of political Vatican. What goes on there, the rituals, the ceremony, is totally disconnected from the laity. How can simple civility take precedent over the fact that this failed president has bankrupted this country?

- Governor Sebelius of Kansas wants to be Obama's running mate.

- Republicans are more committed to their party then they are to the country. It is peculiarly American form of fascism. I doubt very much that they all believe that the answer to terrorism creating a surveillance state via the FISA court?

- Bush will self-rapture after he leaves office.

A Quick Sniff Ahead of New Hampshire

POST- NEW HAMPSHIRE SNORT: I like how the news is reporting Hil's win as "an upset" while Obama's win in Iowa was an "upset." Clearly, folks of a democratic bent are thinking "we don't give a shit! Black dude, Bill's wife, Pretty-boy John... we'll take him! Just get the Bushies out!"

Cynical like any good Gen-X denizen who hollers from the sidelines, I have been bored witless by the political process that is Iowa. But now I am caught-up in the whoopdeedoo. So here are some quick observations about the candies:

Obama – Charismatic, super-smart, glib. Attractive to old-school liberals. Not terribly substantive. Would cause the racists to organize into a massive militia.

H. Clinton – Cold, confused, cowardly with regards to her support of the Iraq war. BUT, probably an effective executive on her own terms. She certainly has the Rolodex for a dynamic, experienced cabinet. PLUS would have access to the most qualified adviser in the history of the Republic. Super curious about whom would be the running mate. Technically, hubby could. Wouldn't he fucking love that?

Edwards – The real deal. Kennedyesque. Very sympathetic. More like B. Clinton during his “Man from Hope” era. Nightmare for corporate America or the biggest disappointment to the progressive Democrats. Might pull Greens. (whoopee! 17,000 votes!) Nader likes him.

Richardson – Probably the most qualified to be chief executive. All but invisible. Was he too fat?

Kucinich/Ron Paul – The usual angry populists who get the margins. Good ideas. Sane critiques. Very European in some ways. They’d do well if we had a genuine democracy. (i.e. proportional representation.) Proof of media and machine manipulation of the process. I like how Paul’s significant percentages in Iowa are relegated to a second graphic page on CNN as though he were a pesky Nader or John Anderson. – Kucinich: most appealing wife…. Next to Hilary’s.

Huckabee – Kindly. Friendly. Experienced. Funny. Absurd name. Anti-Evolution. Anti-Abortion. A nightmare.

Romney – above, but add $$$.

McCain – Dream-team with Colin Powell. Beloved of Reagan Democrats. Quietly corrupt. Slightly mental. Cowardly (in present incarnation). Wouldn’t fight back against Bush Jr. and pandered to Falwell. The choice of Lieberman. ‘Nuff said.

Guliani – Biggest fiction in Republican politics since Harding. Hero by default (like Junior). Exploits 9/11 at every turn. Destroyed crime scene (9/11). Hates ferrets. An unfunny joke.

Thompson – Evidently lost a bet. Complete non-entity. Hot wife.


Bottom line – A Green since 1990, I will vote for whatever Dem gets the numbers. I would prefer Edwards, but I am, like “whatever.” Not apathetic. Not slackering. More like, “just get us the fuck out of this abyss.” We are in a dark, dark place, people. And since no one in the House or Senate has the balls to get the impeachment ball rolling, we have to suffer another year of this loathsome, demonic, administration. - Still, there is something 40-Year Old Virginy about electing an African-American or a Woman... in other words, it would be about fucking time. I wouldn't kick them out of bed for snoring.

A Letter to Roger Ebert

Los Angeles has a few tresures. One of those jewels is The New Beverly Cinema. It is the ONLY repertory movie theater in LA. Sherman Torgan, founder and jack-of-all-trades at the New Bev, died recently. The following is a letter I wrote to film critic Roger Ebert about Torgan and the New Bev.

If you are lucky enough to have a rep movie house in your area, give them your business.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hello Roger – I hope this letter finds you well and improving.

I am writing today because Los Angeles lost one of its angels. Sherman
Torgan, the founder and proprietor of The New Beverly Cinema, here in
Los Angeles. The details, biographical and otherwise, can be found
here
http://www.latimes.com/news/obituaries/la-me-torgan21jul21,1,2652698.story?coll=la-news-obituaries%3A&ctrack=1&cset=true

I'm not sure if you were familiar with Mr. Trogran. Something tells me
that you might have been. I have this image of you popping into small
theaters wherever you find you yourself. But the reason I am writing
is not so much to eulogize Mr. Torgan but to express anxiety. You see,
"The Bev" is the ONLY repertory movie house in Los Angeles.

This bears repeating: in Los Angeles… Hollywood… a town built on and
supported by the film industry, there is only a SINGLE rep theater. I
actually didn't know this fact prior to this week. Living in LA, you
take for granted that you can find whatever you want if you are
willing to drive. But reading the various obituaries and tributes, it
became clear that Mr. Torgan and his small movie house provided an
exclusive service. Three times a week the Bev changes its offerings.
Three nights of Brando followed by two nights of Peter Sellers
followed by two nights of Keaton (and maybe even a midnight of Repo
Man thrown in for good measure). The sheer variety of the offerings;
the eclectic, eccentric, idiosyncratic selections communicated to the
moviegoer that someone loves movies as much as I do. High-brow,
low-brow, middle-brow, Mr. Torgan understood that variety was the
spice of life and the life's blood of a cinemaphile.

Sadly, with the passing of Mr. Torgan, the Bev's days may be numbered.
Years of providing the best bargain in town (a double-feature for $7
is what they charge NOW!) to an increasingly select audience have
taken it's toll. Perpetually on the verge of closing since it opened
in 1978, the Bev may finally be on its last legs without its
benefactor.

My ulterior motive in writing to you, Roger, is not so much to lament
the passing of a great Angelino and friend of cinema, but to touch on
your inherent sympathy for the cottage industry that is the repertory
cinema house. If I can walk ten block in Paris, France and find two
rep houses, it is scandalous that in 500 square miles only one house
can be found to honor the diversity of world cinema. Perhaps you can
use your bully-pulpit to sermonize and perhaps evangelize the need to
maintain and expand this invaluable cultural resource.

Thank you, Roger, for taking the time to read my petition.

Deconstructing a Movie I've Never Seen Based on a Single Image from the Film

In the vein of one of my old professors at CSUN:

I don’t know anything about this film but I can tell you everything you need to know about the relationships based on the poses of the characters. Wilson, head half-tilted, eyebrows up, arms in a shrug, hands up-turned to catch his juggles; Dillon, body towards Hudson, face turned towards Wilson. Hand in pocket, teasing his cock with the hand closest to Wilson, left arm disappears behind Hudson/support-wall. Eyes frowning in disbelief over some Rabelaisian nonsense perpetrated by Wilson, and yet, a half smile, still. Hudson, stiff as a board at right angles from Wilson. Her arms folded like an angry mother, but also framing her breasts because she does want Wilson to find her attractive (co-Nordics?). The only thing out of place… she is smiling. Her body is saying yes/no, her face is saying “I’m just a girl.” COLOR: Hudson: brown (fecal); Dillon: dark blue (invisibility); Wilson: red (sexual passion; excitement); light blue shirt (homo-erotic harmony with Dillon); brown pants: (corprophilic harmony with Hudson; desire for sexual humiliation).

EXCLUSIVE! Excerpt from Anna-Nicole's final diary entry!

2/7/2007

To the degree we are uncertain, we must confess that there is no such thing as an absolute truth. Rather there are degrees of refutability and falsification. “The sun rose today and has done so for billions of years; therefore, the sun will rise tomorrow.” We would say that this inductive statement, rather than being “true” has a very low degree of refutability. In other words, in order to falsify that statement, a refutation would have to have to be of a very high order. Whereas, the statement, “the moon looks like a wheel of blue-cheese; the moon therefore is made of cheese” has a very high degree of refutability because what is required to falsify the argument would be of a very low order.

Another problem with scientific knowledge is that language itself is inadequate to the task of expressing truth. Early scientists realized this and created mathematics. However, though math is a more refined language, it is nonetheless still a language. For example, while it clear that a number can be divided into fractions to an infinite degree, we can nonetheless move from “1” to “2” instantly and without issue. In the material world, there is nothing which can be infinitely divided. At a point, matter breaks down into its constituent atomic parts which then further divide into sub-atomica, then onto a quantum stage, and possibly, etcetera. But at that point, the “thing” itself is no longer the “thing” but rather a part of what might be termed “the general composite” (matter, space, gravity, etc.). If we were attempting to generate an inductive conclusion from this, we must admit that there are no divisions whatsoever, but rather a wholeness within an implicit, universal order.

However, everything I have said must be rendered suspect by the very fact that I am using language to describe it. Any notion that a fundamental truth has been forwarded must be rubbished until such time as direct access can be obtained.

Hidden History: Remembering Jerry Ford and James Brown

Jerry Ford once made a promise or prediction that, regardless of how clumsy or ineffectual he was, he would outlive James Brown. The media has traditionally overlooked the quiet but bitter rivalry between the Godfather of Soul and the former president, but history may eventually attest to the sometimes nasty relationship the two had.

“Fuck that cracker mother-fucker,” Brown famously exclaimed to a reporter from Rolling Stone when asked in 1975 why he refused to accept an invitation to dine with the president at an all-star gala which included Mummenschantz, Paul Harvey, and TV’s Sally Struthers. “I’ve got better things to do than sit around eating hash with that stupid, Ban-roll-on-deodorant-looking, can’t-get-elected, fool.”

The snub originated from an incident in May of 1965 when the then up-and-coming Funkster met the then Congressman Ford at a celebrity football match. Ford, hallucinating from sunstroke and mistaking James Brown for the famous running-back Jim Brown. tackled Brown while he was bent over the Gatorade cooler. Afterwards, despite Ford’s attempt to publicly apologize, a feud ensued. Years later, on the eve of the 1976 elections, Ford was at a press conference where he was asked about the current state of play vis a vis the James Brown situation. Ford, in his typically no-nonsense, button-down way, explained that he would consider the matter settled once one or both of them were dead. After a beat, the President added “and I don’t plan on going first. For what it’s worth, I’ve got a legion of secret services agents and a direct line to several Freemasons. ‘Nuff said.” That night, at a show at Carnegie Hall, Brown used the time between songs to declare his continued enmity towards Ford, alternating “fuck that mother-fucker” with “fuck him and his strung-out bitch.”

Things cooled down over the course of the next thirty years and the two eventually reached a kind of détente when both were invited to Mr. and Mrs. PW Botha’s housewarming party in Decatur in 1986. Ford, who was busy surruptiously feeling up the bust of a statue of Queen Beatrix , did not notice Brown’s entry (despite the confetti and gong). The two hovered at opposite ends of the room, occasionally leering at one another from afar before feigning to studying the molding on the wall. Fearing the party would turn sour due to the palpable tension in the air, PW (whom Brown affectionately referred to as “Pee-Wee”) called for Elkie Summers to bring out her “special brownies” which Botha had been saving for the after dinner brandy. Soon, everyone at the party was high and feeling no pain. Charles Nelson Riley began hammering away on the piano and Joan Dideon piped in for a stirring rendition of “I’ve got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts” in honor of Merv Griffin whom, for some reason, everyone thought had recently died. Afterwards, Riley asked if President Ford had any requests, and, in a moment of cannabinoidal good-will, said, “I’d love to hear ‘Sex Machine,’” and gave a tearful nod to Brown, who just about broke into tears himself. Brown obliged the former president and when the song was over the two shook hands. Ford said “I still think you are a dirty son-of-a-bitch” to which Brown replied “ you old cracker motherfucker.”

Banking on Fear

This past weekend, I like many John and Jane Paychecks, took an hour to balance my accounts for the end of the month. I wanted to make sure the money was where it was supposed to be. And, like many folks, I keep the bulk of my money in savings, transferring only what I need for bill-coverage into my checking account. I do this because I belong to a credit union and I get a decent rate in savings.

However, when I attempted to perform the transfer, the site came back with a message saying “Transfer Failed Due to Reg – D.” I tried several more times only to receive the same failure message. Assuming this was a simple website glitch, I waited until Monday (today) to call my bank to find out what the problem was/is. What I was told was chilling.

“Reg – D” has to do with a provision in the Patriot Act which is supposedly aimed at money laundering. Individuals are not allowed to transfer money between accounts more than six times in a 30 days period. It does not matter whether the institution is a bank or credit union or between a savings and a checking account. You simply aren’t allowed to make these sorts of transfers electronically. You must call the financial institution and request that someone at the bank do it for you. In other words, the government is saying how and when you can manage your own money.

Like many left-leaning, suburban working class people, I have been angry about the so-called Patriot Act since the day it went from punditland to law. I hated the idea that we would become “that kind of country” - a culture of finks and snoops with our government treating its citizens as suspects. But, honestly, I never went much beyond theoretical outrage.

As with many things that have happened since 9/11, the so-called “war on terrorism” really means a war on the citizens. Granted, being inconvenienced in my personal banking does not compare to being rounded up and sent to a darkened cell at Camp X-Ray, but it is telling. It is a gutting example of the sort of day-to-day variety of creeping-fascism which has been engendered in a climate of fear. What is worse, the heavy-handed actions of our government infantilize the citizen; making him or her “subjects” to the largess of a paternalistic overseer.

In what ways is this “conservative?” How is this “small government?”

I did call my Congressman. I did write him a letter. He’s out campaigning and probably not talking about The Patriot Act (which he did not support. Good for him) because Democrats are talking about everything BUT the war and the Patriot Act is “old news.” I hope that, somehow, somewhere, November 7^th 2006 means the beginning of the end of this six year nightmare.

God's Got a Sick Sense of Humour (hopefully)

About 15 years ago I started writing a book of essays about the UK electro-pop band, Depeche Mode. I am finally in the final-final edit of the book and while doing the final read-through I found an essay which I feel is germaine to the whole Danish-anti-Muslim-comic-strip flap. In 1984, Depeche Mode released a single in the UK called "Blasphemous Rumours." The single was a flop but it caused a bit of controversy and the BBC refused to play it due to it's supposedly anti-Christian message. Interestingly enough, the JACK-FM format in the US rotates the song A LOT and I do hear it on college radio "flash-back" hours from time to time. It is a great tune, sonically speaking, and, though perhaps a bit over-wrought, asks some difficult questions about the nature of faith. So, here's the essay in its entirety.

--------------------------------------------------

from "Depeche Mode: Your Favorite Darkness" © 2006 by David Fulton.

‘Blasphemous Rumours’ - The enduring power of this song is best embodied in the effect it has on long-time fans when the band perform it live. In the film of 101 there is a moving and somewhat disturbing scene in which the camera captures a young woman in the throes of hysterics as she sings along with Gahan. She is given over to total emotional abandon like nothing short of Beatlemania. This moment manages to encapsulate in one stunning visual everything that needs to be understood about the relationship between Depeche Mode and its audience. The words and the music create a dialog for a voiceless and often ignored, generation of middle-class kids who have big thoughts and important concerns but lack the language and the public platform that a pop act can provide. ‘Blasphemous Rumours’ (‘BR’), though it has ceased to be featured in the band's live set since that historic Pasadena show in 1988, exemplifies the sort of song that Depeche Mode does better than any other pop act outside of U2 or REM: a song of ideas and consequence.

Musically, ‘BR’ is the band's most complex and challenging track to date. It manages to walk the line between the dark minimalism of ‘Pipeline’ and the thickly-layered sounds found on Black Celebration Indeed, ‘Pipeline’, with its sparse instrumentation blending eastern drum patterns with industrial sterility, offers an ersatz sonic template for the production crew on ‘BR’. Tension builds in both songs from the onset with enigmatic percussion signifying an almost religious solemnity. While ‘Pipeline’ is a quasi-work song, ‘Blasphemous Rumours’ suggests something no less dire than a funeral procession. In this case, the death of the god of Martin Gore's youth.

Gore presents us with two superficially similar situations involving young women. The first, a sixteen year old girl in the midst of adolescence attempts suicide because she is “bored with life.” The attempt is a failure and there is a strange, dark sarcasm from Gore who “thanks” God for the “small mercies” of “allowing” her to fall short of her intended goal of self-annihilation. The second verse deals with the girl's mother and her reaction to the events. The suicide note is read while “16 candles burn in her mind,” and the guilt and a sense of responsibility is assuaged “once again” by prayer. The chorus then kicks in; a black nursery rhyme, not unlike the one heard on ‘Everything Counts’, infuses the song with acid irony as God is giving, in the words of one critic (Neil Tennant), “a severe ticking off.” To be sure, Gore does not mince words in his accusing the Almighty of a sort of spiritual hubris. By declaring that God has a less than empathetic attitude toward the suffering of mankind, Gore is also calling into question the whole franchise of Christianity. The songwriter does not cull from the headlines, as he does later on ‘New Dress’, stories of famine and war. Instead, he chooses to focus on a home-grown microcosm of domestic, middle-class suffering. The second young woman dies after being hit by a car despite her finding “new life in Jesus Christ.” Although Gore does not explicitly say so, he is obviously outraged by the absurd irony of, on the one hand, a girl who wants to die being made to live by the grace of God while another, who was ostensibly “in love with everything” dies senselessly at the hands of a capricious fate. The world which Gore chooses to ground his discontent is assuredly the world of a decidedly English form of Christianity which buttresses the meager spiritual lives of its island-bound population with fatalism and a clock-work sensibility about the workings of the universe. It is easier, in the case of the sixteen year old suicide and the eighteen year old car crash victim, to accept the nature of “God's will” rather than to look at the underlying and often difficult questions: what drives a young girl to attempt suicide? What sort of God allows such a tragic and senseless death as the one the befalls “one of His own?” The latter is obviously the more dangerous of the two questions. To investigate the problem of why God allows suffering would mean an acceptance of three uncomfortable and disturbing possibilities - a) that of an absentee deity; a god that created and then subsequently retired, b) Gore's God of the “sick sense of humour;” a malevolent, even evil god that actually enjoys watching the travails of humankind, or c) the utter lack of God.

It is telling that the discourse that ensued upon the release of the ‘Blasphemous Rumours’ single focuses almost exclusively on the accusation of irreligion and not the difficult questions raised by Gore. The songwriter was attacked for his lack of piety and sensitivity and the debate soon became one of censorship versus free speech. Gore's inability to properly frame the debate in the press when it was his turn to speak did little to further the discussion. Eventually, the controversy wore off once the single's brief, four week stay on the singles chart ended. Sadly, little if any attention has ever been given to the significant problems raised by the song. Discussions in the modern era on the subject of God are themselves not modern and seem to begin and end with the tired dialectic of evolution and creationism. The thorny topic of the place of God in a postmodern, highly mobile, multicultural society (and I am referring specifically to the so-called “global west,” encompassing Western Europe and North America) is seldom broached with any depth on any media. The occasional ten minute back-and-forth on the BBC simply begins the approach.

What Gore is hoping to do with ‘Blasphemous Rumours’ is to express a very real, though seldom articulated, frustration with the God of Christianity. Can it offer anything other than the most rudimentary comfort, like that sought by the praying mother over her suicidal daughter, or is the faith found hollow and lacking in the late twentieth century? For Gore, the trappings and ceremonies of conventional religion are simply relics of a bygone era and what is required is a new, more relevant way into God. He will not find it on Some Great Reward, and the next album will sink him deeper into an agnostic darkness where a desperate hedonism is invoked to combat feelings of imminent doom and despair. It will nearly 20 years before Gore can imagine a God suitable to his temperment and needs. Until then, it is a long road of struggle and searching.

Letter to Congressman Brad Sherman

Brad Sherman is my Congressional Representative. He is also the House Ranking Member on the Committee on International Relations.

Congressman Brad Sherman

500 Van Nuys Boulevard, Suite 420

Sherman Oaks, CA. 91403-1791

Dear Congressman Sherman:

I recently received a communication from your office stating your position on women’s reproductive rights, hand-gun control, and the environment. While these stances are gratifying to one who adheres to traditional, Democratic progressive values, recent developments in the so-called “war on terrorism” have prompted me to write to you today.

By now I am sure you are aware of the UN report on the human rights abuses occurring at Guantanamo Bay (see enclosed article). Of particular concern is the on-going policy of violent force-feeding of prisoners by military personnel in an effort to quash hunger-striking detainees. Listening to a report of the goings-on at the camp on the CBC last week, I was sickened to hear that US soldiers are engaged in behaviors which at best could be termed abuse, and at worst, torture. How can we, as a nation, export the ideals of a liberty, democracy, and free speech if our own agents (presumably acting on our proxy in the theater of war) carry out actions associated with the worst abuses of fascists dictatorships?

More generally, I remain greatly disturbed by the status of these prisoners as “enemy combatants.” This example of what I characterize as typical White House double-speak, allows the government to maintain these individuals in legal limbo indefinitely, thus violating nearly every treaty the US has been signatory to since the Geneva Conventions.

When these detentions began three-years ago, I doubt many of us imagined that, in 2006, we would continue to house population of individuals who have never been charged with any crime, in any court, in any district (civil, federal, or military). While this circumstance alone would suffice to cause alarm in any conscientious American, the fact that our own soldiers may be responsible for the continued abuse of prisoners under our care is odious, reprehensible, and must not be allowed to stand.

Congressman, I hope you will continue to work in your capacity as ranking member of the Subcommittee on International Terrorism, Nonproliferation, and Human Rights to see that these prisoners are transferred into the American criminal justice system and processed with the full complement of rights outlined in the Constitution. We cannot allow these violations of basic human freedoms to continue, and we cannot tacitly endorse torture under any circumstance.

You constituent,

David DeWitt Fulton

Force-feeding breaks protest at Guantánamo

· Lawyers say abuse has left only four on hunger strike
· Pentagon denies policy of punishing detainees

Suzanne Goldenberg in Washington
Friday February 10, 2006

Guardian

The Pentagon faced a groundswell of protest about its treatment of detainees at Guantánamo yesterday after it emerged that a hunger strike had been broken by force-feeding inmates and putting them in restraints.

Five months after inmates at Guantánamo began the strike to protest against their indefinite detention at the US naval base only four remain on hunger strike. Three of those are being force-fed with tubes through the nose, a Pentagon spokesman said.

He denied charges that the Pentagon was trying to break the hunger strike by punishing the protesters. "They are not trying to reduce the hunger strike, but they are going to feed people to protect life," he said. The feeding was administered by medical professionals in "a humane and compassionate manner" using the same process as in civilian prisons.

The spokesman said the men were stable, and their condition was being monitored by doctors - a claim disputed by lawyers who have recently visited Guantánamo. The lawyers described the four hunger strikers as being extremely ill, and said that one was close to death.

The lawyers also accused the military of trying to break the protest through painful force-feeding, or by subjecting the hunger strikers to isolation and restraints, to avoid the risk of detainees committing suicide by starvation.

"The military at Guantánamo has reacted extremely violently against the detainees who have been involved in the hunger strike protest. They have come down very harshly," said Gitanjali Gutierrez, a lawyer for the Centre for Constitutional Rights, which represents more than 100 inmates. Ms Gutierrez visited the base last month.

In court documents inmates have accused their jailers of being overly rough in the insertion and removal of feeding tubes - a charge the Pentagon denies. In addition, the New York Times reported yesterday that guards had strapped detainees into restraint chairs for hours at a time to prevent them from vomiting after being force-fed. Other hunger strikers have been placed in isolation for long periods, or deprived of blankets or books.

The newspaper said the tougher measures were imposed in recent weeks amid fears at the Pentagon that some of the prisoners were determined to kill themselves. Since the resort to restraints and forcefeeding there has been a steep drop in the number of hunger strikers, from 84 in December to four.

"They are abusing them psychologically, they are abusing them physically to the point where it becomes too painful to continue in the strike. They harass them until they begin to eat again," it claimed.

Amnesty International called for independent medical experts to be allowed to visit the hunger strikers.

"These fresh reports concerning the cruel treatment of hunger strikers are disturbing," Amnesty's UK director, Kate Allen, said.

There have been periodic hunger strikes at Guantánamo since the Bush administration established the prison in January 2002 to hold suspects in the war on terror beyond the oversight of the US courts. However, since last year the hunger strikes have intensified, with the inmates reportedly in despair that they will ever be released.

At the height of the protest last September more than 130 prisoners were on hunger strike, according to the Pentagon. However, detainees' lawyers fear the true numbers are even higher because the US military will only consider a detainee is on hunger strike if he misses nine consecutive meals.

The Pentagon spokesman would not be drawn yesterday on why so many detainees had abandoned their protest. However, one official said: "The hunger strike issue is more of a publicity ploy than anything else. Al-Qaida training manuals tell them what type of resistance to offer when detained."

He added: "Maybe they started eating again since it didn't work."

Guardian Unlimited © Guardian Newspapers Limited 2006

Annoying Bush Thing #10,092

Herr Bush’s recent pat on the back for thwarting an alleged plot to ram a plane into downtown LA’s Library Towers annoys me on many levels. For one, it is Bush and he annoys me in general. Notice the way he talks when he is trying to be authoritative… he over enunciates and goes to the nth degree to be deliberate, as though we are the ones with the coke-addled brain and the possum’s IQ. Second, it is annoying because the speech is an obvious ploy to make the clearly illegal wire taps seem worthwhile… as though Al Qaida is actually phoning the US and saying “hey, the world famous Library Towers! Let’s Rol!” As though the terrorists are as lame-brained as this administration. As though they don’t know how to communicate with each other through smoke signals and secret handshakes. But what really cheeses my potato is the fact that no one in Los Angeles was told about this alleged plot on the city’s tallest building. Mayor Villaragosa had to find out by listening to Bush’s speech:

‘"I'm amazed that the president would make this (announcement) on national TV and not inform us of these details through the appropriate channels," the mayor told The Associated Press. "I don't expect a call from the president - but somebody” – Mayor Villargosa to the AP.

What this tells me is two things: ONE, there is NO interest in really preventing terrorism. If there was, there really would be information sharing between local and federal agencies. TWO, Bush doesn’t really care about Los Angeles. So it’s worse than Kanye thinks. It’s not so much that Bush don’t care about Black people, he don’t care about PEOPLE. PERIOD. He is the narcissist’s narcissist.

In LA, we are sitting ducks and, sadly, it is just a matter of time before something happens. We are vulnerable in so many places that it is stupid to even think we could “give something away” to the terrorists (not that I am going to present any idea here.) The only hope is that the fat man in Sacramento and the legislative circus act will consider spending some time constructing some plan for ourselves rather than rely on the Feds to provide the answer.

A Working Life - Part One. Other People’s Toilets

A Working Life - Part One. Other People’s Toilets

This past Spring I completed my first full year of teaching (college composition). It was a rewarding experience and one that solidified my initial feelings that a bad day teaching is better than the best day of cleaning toilets.

I cleaned houses once for a about half-a-year. It was one of the worst jobs I’ve ever had (although not the worst – see later tangent). A lot of kids my age (at the time, early 20s) who did a lot of crank and listened to heavy metal. Everyone always looked grimy and haggard. Dunkin’ Donuts at 4:45 in the morning, waiting for the supply guy to arrive and give us our day’s supply of cleansers and sponges. The pay was terrible because of two assumptions (neither of which originated with us, the workers.). Assumption #1 came from the management who told us that while our hourly pay was low (about a buck above the minimum wage), the owners of the houses we would, like our wait-staff brothers and sisters, be compensated by gratuities. Assumption #2 originates with the actual homeowners (or renters) who felt that the job we did was so grueling, so demeaning, that it was assumed we must be getting well compensated for our work from our bosses. After all, we were Caucasians in an industry dominated by Hispanics. So, between the willing ignorance of management and the ignorance bred of misunderstanding the work-to-pay ratio in this country, we cleaners took home a little less than $300 bucks a week through salary, and about $10 a week in tips (in a good week). Over the course of six months, I raked in about $60. When folks did tip, they barely recognized denominations beyond Hamilton. Somehow, the hedonic fuckwad who slithers over with your $10, over-iced gin and tonic is more deserving of a reasonable recompense than he or she who just spent two hours picking god-know-what off the sides of your bathtub (some sort of blend of mineral salts and human gravy? I don’t really want to know.). All of my co-workers hated the job and hated the customers. The revenge was simple: steal as much as you can possible get away with. I was always too chicken-shit to take anything myself but then again I didn’t have a crystal meth habit to feed. I also didn’t stay there very long. Among other things, the cost of gas to drive from one end of the South Bay to the other was cutting into my already meager profits.

After the initial disappointment of not getting the tips I was promised in orientation, I was burned out by month-six. Usually inertia will keep you working a bad job for years sometimes, but house cleaning is irregular and choppy in scheduling. I would sometimes have three cancellations in a day which was a mixed blessing. It was great because it meant I didn’t have to lug vacuum cleaners (yes, plural), buckets, mops and brooms all over creation, but of course, not workie, not money. A particularly bad/good week might have 80% cancellation. Anyway, there was no “getting used” to the “flow” of the schedule. Sometimes I’d be working from 6:00 am to 8:00 pm, other days, I might have one office cleaning (my favorite gig. Easy. No one around. Usually a longer gig so more pay) and be home by noon.

I wish I had some sexy story to tell you, but I think only our cohort in pool cleaning business get those. Or, it is more reasonable to believe that they might get laid, there is that beach bum, slightly Lebowski-looking fellow with pack of Newports and John Holmes mustache who just seems to be attractive enough to the fabled housewives of Rancho Palos Verdes to allow in for a quick screw. But we house cleaners, girls and boys alike, are a grubby bunch. We smell of bleach and whatever you puked up on to your carpet last night. In other words, no perks. But crank-heads love to clean, and delusions of grandeur come easy to those without a thought-filter to catch all wild shit as if flies from idea to action.

Words to Live by:

“You can never clean someone else’s toilet to their satisfaction.”

A Good Walk Spoiled

For Our Gentle President, Who Just Wanted to Play a Few Rounds

in old rome,
nero, he did play
while the city burned.
it might seem perverse,
but be cheered in the thought
of how beautiful it would be
were the situation reversed.

sorry that your holiday was interrupted.

Getting it Down Pat: Right Wing Story Time

What would it take for someone on the right to say “whoop! Sorry ‘bout that”? Bush and company are, of course, totally incapable of saying mea culpa (and W, undoutably, can’t spell it). Made-up war-reasoning, continued oil obsession in light now self-evident global warming, mass murderer Bin-Ladin still on the loose, and a degree of insensitivity that blames a dead soldier’s mother for a fucked up vacation all add up to a pretty nifty tally.

Of course, Pat Robertson is not really, officially attached to the Bush administration. Not in any “according-to-Hoyle” sort of way. No, he is one of those figures who exist in the shadows, behind the curtains, doing the moral dirty work on the front lines of the screaming, lunatic fringe of the right. Just as Fox is not an “official” instrument of the right’s agenda, Pat Robertson and his ilk (Fallwell, Reed, take your pick) stand on the oblique sidelines of the political process, getting to act like maniacs for their cause, doing their damage, then slipping back under their veils of “private citizen.”

Meanwhile, actual private citizens like Cindy Sheehan are pilloried mercilessly as though they were some incorporated bulldozer ready to roll over unborn fetuses. The worst thing she did, of course, was to use the Christian cross in her protest. The right, as we know, has proprietary rights to the use of the symbol, therefore, it is not sacrilegious that some cowboy clown blazed over them in his massive, Saudi-oil powered SUV. Whoa to the feckless PETAphile who accidentally snags a Birkenstock on a similarly themed right wing sponsored vigil. There’d be no pitch too hot for little Moonglow.

The right’s great weapon of recent years has been a kind of “shock ‘n awe” kind of overreaction to anything that smacks of criticism of political status quo. If Bill Mahr questions why US Soldiers are ill-equipped in the theatre of war, then the right-wind congressman will simply label the comedian’s comments as treasonous. If Chris Mathews questions the whack-job senator (who happens to be some kind of democrat, evidently) as to whether accusations made against former Presidential hopeful John Kerry’s war record are true, that senator must then challenge Mr. Mathews to a duel… so he can kill him, obviously. Thus, when the grieving mother of a solider killed in Iraq decides to go to the vacation Shangri La of our poor, exhausted leader, to gain an audience, the thing for the right to do is to go ape-shit, organize, make tee-shirts, and assume Sheehan is the head of some neo-pagen, vegetarian conspiracy to make sure flags are burned at regular intervals and that Christian children are forcibly placed with lesbian parents.

My thought is that the right reacts this way not because they are particularly concerned about the specific event – Cindy Sheehan protesting the war, for example – but because they link the protest to a broader, more symbolic cultural conflict. Let’s face it, they do enjoy tarring the left with a fairly broad brush. You cannot, for example, be an anti-war supporter of the NRA. You cannot be pro-choice and pro-war, etc. The narrative is too difficult for the far-right. I am sure the left does the same thing to those on the right – all right wingers are anti-choice, pro-gun, know-nothings. That, in a nutshell, is the real problem with America: an inability to accept a more complicated, more nuanced narrative.

Of course, Pat Robertson is not really interested in a complex narrative, unless, of course, it is his own. After calling for the death of Chavez, he back pedals in a way that recalls Bill Clinton’s eroto-linguistic hair-splitting during the Lewinsky scandal (and aren’t you feeling a little bit nostalgic for that feel-good era?). The difference is that in the case of Robertson, we have a record of what he actually said because he said it on television in his own words. To quote today’s Washington Post:

[...] a video of Monday's telecast shows that Robertson's exact words were: "You know, I don't know about this doctrine of assassination, but if he thinks we're trying to assassinate him, I think that we really ought to go ahead and do it. It's a whole lot cheaper than starting a war, and I don't think any oil shipments will stop."
He continued: "We have the ability to take him out, and I think the time has come that we exercise that ability. We don't need another $200 billion war to get rid of one, you know, strong-arm dictator. It's a whole lot easier to have some of the covert operatives do the job and then get it over with."

I guess Pat is attempting to spin the word “it” as being taken “out of context”. I guess I don’t know too much about the way Southern Baptists use their pronouns but if it’s the same way we Hollywood Pagan Liberals use it then “it,” in this context, replaces the previous proper noun, and that is “the doctrine of assassination.”
Ok, Pat is a total idiot but that’s not what’s important here. What is important is some consideration of why the right would want this particular messenger out there running wild. Simple: Chavez is sitting on an oil reserve that might mean salvation in these post-Saudi-Oil-peak era. As Saudi Arabia starts down the road of reduced output (10-15 years?) and the trickle-spout that is the Anwar oil refuge is shown to be what it is (trickle-spout), then we need another oil sponge that we can push around or at least play nicely with. That would be Venezuela. Sadly, we don’t have a friendly on the ground there. Chavez is too social a democrat. He is too friendly with Castro (who, for some bizarre reason, we continue to have a hard-on for 40 years on. Pfizer and Glaxo should figure out how to bottle whatever is making this foreign policy so turgidly vertical), and he is too beloved of the poor (only in Caracas do anti-government protestors show up with manicures and leave in Jaguars). But, of course, the time is not right for a new demonization. We still have Iraq, we have Iran in our sites, and let’s not forget North Korea (but do forget about Bin Ladin. He’s not currently on the radar and his presence just complicates things). If Chavez’s policies continue into the next several years (provided he is still in power and some locally grown thug doesn’t return power to the 1% of the population who actually own land), then we might start considering how to best handle the situation in South America. Right now, Pat’s comments are seeds, or trial balloons, of what narrative might be forthcoming.

Current TV - Candy Everbody Wants

So New World International, the CBC's no-frills, no-nonsense, cable news channel, signed off forever at 9:00 PM PST or a little more than an hour ago. I wouldn’t say I “loved” NWI. In fact, I was often annoyed by its lack of content – flying in hours of programming from other channels rather than developing their own – but in the kingdom of the blind – the blind being the McNews hegemony represented by CNN-FOX, with their overheated news anchors, short-attention span blurbing, and celebrity-obsessed, USA-Is-Number-One propaganda – the 24 hour news channel without an annoying news ticker, is king.

Actually, I only really watched NWI because I could rely on it to give me seven-to-twelve minutes of headlines at the top of the hour (sorry for the “news-speak”). And the reason I went to Canada for my headlines rather than CNN’s Headline News Channel is because I knew that I wouldn’t have to listened to the thinly veiled sanctimony of some polished and primped American news reader who you know really wants to join the Ministry of Information so they can serve up the pabulum fresh from the source.

NWI tearfully went off the air without any real sincere hope of staging a comeback. The CBC doesn’t have the capital. I can only hope the BBC will make the World Service more widely available to American cable.

Al Gore’s Current TV took over at nine o’clock PM (midnight EST) with a rousing couple of verses from The Ramones version of What a Wonderful World. It didn’t matter that they had recorded it with un-ironic intent (Joey was dying and wanted to send out positive vibes), the new channel wanted to co-opt the song to make a very important statement about their relative hipness. Shortly, a flurry of text and images hurl out of the screen like some sort of amphetamine-induced psycho vomit, before dissolving into the dot-matrix retro-font declaring its name. For the next hour the channel throws down dozens of “pods” or mini-documentaries. Each segment ends with a return to the channel’s HQ, a swank techo-lodge of red paneling and 360 degree views above a city (sort of a way of saying “we’re COULD be watching you, but we’re having too much fun in here to care.”) where we are greeted by the same sort of folks who, twenty five years ago, would have been veejays on the fledgling MTV. From their Urban Outfitter/Tommy H. couture, to their slightly askew way of talking to the camera, to their “I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying, and I don’t care” prattle, they are “Cool” in the most trademarketable way. You half expect them to announce each segment with “NOW HERE’S MY BOY KINKO DA KLOWN WITH A REPORT ON PRISON LABOR IN CHINA… TO THE EXTREEEEME!!!!”

One segment that was of particular interest was the “pod” about youth culture in Iran. That is to say, the only youth culture worth talking about which is the western style of hyper-consumerism, loud music, sex, drugs, drink, and generalized debauchery. The reporter, either an American or a Canadian, interviewed a rather select group of Iranians including a bunch who had congressed at an upscale apartment for a house party. The music was blaring, the gals were scantly dressed, cigarettes, booze, “even Ecstasy!!!” were widely consumed. Reporter: “If I didn’t know any better, this could be a party in Brooklyn.” Except, these Iranian kids are, I surmise, less than “typical.” Later she interviews other young people and, I would say obsessively, inquires about whether they know any gay people. One group of girls needs this explained to them: “you know, girls with girls, boys with boys.” For some reason, these young women were less than forthcoming about admitting to anything so commonplace as being acquainted with someone who, in their country, could be executed for the crime of homosexuality.

The segment ends ( I am not going to call it a “pod” anymore. It demeans us all) and we return to the lounge. The camera whirls around the host in that way that is supposed to simulate the viewer’s perception (because, don’t you bob and weave with your interlocutor when having a conversation?). She introduces herself as “Amanda,” she looks a remarkable combination of bored and horny. Wet, sultry, pink-glossed lips manage to part with great effort. Surely she has something of value to say of merit. She is, after all, being beamed into pontentially millions of households” “wow… it’s a crime to be gay in Iran. Bummer.” Ok, she didn’t say “bummer” but I am trying to get across her general attitude, one of “I don’t really care, but I hope I look good.” This was followed by a segment by a fellow who had his cel phone number hacked off of Paris Hilton’s gizmotron and how its actually a good thing that his privacy was invade. “Its like hosting my own radio call-in show!” and “Maybe too much privacy is a bad thing.” I probably would have felt bad for him if he A) weren’t a friend of Paris Hilton’s, and B) if he weren’t driving around an expensive sports car.

Too much privacy? Ok, I’ll let your car insurance company know you are driving around the Bay area having endless chat-ups with your new cel-friends. Would you mind?

Connect TV, though still less than a day old, seems to already be the most annoying channel on television. Which is saying a lot considering how ESPN now offers competitive hot-dog eating as regular programming and Fox will soon launch a 24 hour reality TV channel. All that is crass and self-reflexive about what we used to call Gen X (and those little horny sluggers in Gen Y) comes to the surface in the most mundane and banal manner Connect. It all seems so desperate… and I mean that to the EXTREEMMMM!!!!